WEBVTT

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Eight.

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Abe Lincoln stands giving
the Gettysburg Address.

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Everyone is rapt
except for one guy

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in the front row who
keeps raising his hand

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and hopping up and
down in his seat.

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(IN A SLIGHT DRAWL) "Do
you have a question, sir"--

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that's actually
how Lincoln talked;

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I did a lot of research--

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Lincoln says.

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(IN A SLIGHT DRAWL) "Do
you have a question, sir?"

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"Wendy's Grande Chicken
Bowl Combo," the man says.

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(IN A SLIGHT DRAWL) "Uh, that's
not a question," Lincoln says.

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"Wendy's Grande
Chicken Bowl Combo?"

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the man says.

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[LAUGHTER]

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(IN A SLIGHT DRAWL)
"I'm afraid I'm

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unable to discern your
purpose, sir," Lincoln says.

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"I'm trying to pay tribute to
the brave men who died here."

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"Pay tribute to
this, beardo-weirdo!"

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says the man and presses
a button on his chest

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and suddenly is
transformed into a giant

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Grande Chicken Bowl Combo.

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That is, a giant
synthetic chicken product

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shaped like a frigate
with oars made of celery

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and wafer-thin nacho sails.

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Then the Grande Chicken Bowl
Combo beats its wings and sails

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and floats up around
Lincoln's head,

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ramming his top hat off,
spraying him with salsa

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from its mini salsa cannons.

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"Anybody else think a great
taste in poultry nautical treat

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is loads more fun
than this old fuddy?"

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says the Grande
Chicken Bowl Combo.

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"I do," says General Grant.

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"Me too," says Harriet Tubman.

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"We totally agree," say the
ghosts of several Union dead.

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"Sandwiches for all!" says
the Grande Chicken Bowl Combo.

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"Great taste is what
made America great."

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"Not a bunch of yapping,"
says Mrs. Lincoln.

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Cannons fire from the
battlefield and scores

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of Grande Chicken Bowl
Combos begin drifting down

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via tiny parachutes.

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And the suddenly
euphoric members

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of the 19th-century
crowd trample

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Lincoln and the
graves of the Union

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dead to collect their rightful
Grande Chicken Bowl Combos.

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Even the Union dead are
trampling their own graves.

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One sad Union ghost missing a
leg gets only part of a bun.

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Suddenly, another
cannon is fired.

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The cannonball strikes the
giant Grande Chicken Bowl Combo

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directly in the chest,
killing it instantly, covering

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the spectators in a grotesque
chicken nacho salsa spray,

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pelting them with the dozens
of the little edible plastic

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sailors embedded as prizes
in every Grande Chicken Bowl

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Combo.

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"Mr, President," someone
says, "please continue."

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As the cannon smoke clears,
we see the orange / Grammy /

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man briefly involved with a
ding-dong / piles of mush /

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penisless man coalition
standing behind the cannon that

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fired the shot that killed
the Grande Chicken Bowl Combo.

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President Lincoln nods his
gratitude to the coalition,

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shuffles through his
papers, and continues.

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